“The Night Shift”
An Erotic Michael Jackson Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
An Erotic Michael Jackson Short Story By:
MJsLoveSlave
Starlight Heights Condominiums
Beverly Hills, California
Spring, 1997
Watch Out for the Quiet Ones…
For the three years I had been working as a private caregiver to the sick and injured all around the state of California, I had heard this little saying. Off and on again, whispered under the breaths so as not to fall on eavesdropping ears.
I had never quite known what was meant by those vague, hushed words.
And then I met Mr. Jackson.
The company I worked for, Necessity Nursing, had assigned me to take over the night of working for this man.
I didn’t know much about Mr. Jackson. Just that he’d injured himself when he’d wrapped his sports car around a light post in downtown Los Angeles.
He’d been left with a badly sprained wrist and ankle both on his right side.
(And he’d moved into Starlight Heights because he couldn’t get up and down the steps of his much larger estate in The Valley.)
I had worked for Mr. Jackson for a little over a week and to be honest, he was fairly easy to care for.
Most nights, due to discomfort , he was given a painkiller by the nurse who tended to him before me, so by the time I arrived, he’d be sound asleep.
And really, he’d sleep right on through the night, without speaking a word to me. He’d only spoken to me once--to ask for help hobbling back and forth to the bathroom. And that was about it.
I don’t even think he knew my name.
That all changed one Saturday night.
I arrived to Mr. Jackson’s condo, shortly after ten p.m., as I did most nights.
I was kind of fond of working for Mr. Jackson--the building he lived in was so pretty.
Done in the Art Deco style of the 1930’s, everything as far as the eye could see on the eighteenth floor where he lived was done in black and chrome, with silver geometric shapes thrown in for good measure.
Getting up to the door, I stood on tip-toe, reaching to retrieve the door key that was hidden up there, so I could let myself in.
Opening the door into the brightly lit and slightly cluttered condo, I smiled to myself.
The inside of Mr. Jackson’s apartment looked more suited for a boy of ten years old than a man who was almost forty.
All over the place toys from a still pinging Gameboy to a bunch of stuffed Disney characters were crowded into the apartment, decorated in shades of black, white and grey.
Lining the walls, framed posters from more Disney films were displayed.
I was accustomed to Mr. Jackson’s affinity for all things Disney.
Very often, he’d dozed off watching an animated feature, and I would have to shut the film off and pop the tape out of the VCR.
Setting my purse and light jacket in the closet, I sprang into my routine that had carried me from ten till six in the morning.
First I located the phone in the kitchen and phoned in to my job to let them know I had arrived at work--and so I wouldn’t be docked pay!
Then I started the coffee pot to brewing. Mr. Jackson drank an exclusive brand of coffee I had never heard of, that had been imported straight from Columbia. If he had any problem with me drinking it, I had yet to hear a complaint.
Finally, with the scent of pungent beans filling the air, I left the kitchen, destined for Mr. Jackson’s room to look in on him. And see if I could find any more of his Archie comic books to read so I could pass the time before I started tidying the condo up.
“…Chip and Dale…Rescue Rangers…!”
I heard his big screen television blasting before even reached the door to his room. It wasn’t hard to miss the double doors of his room--they were silver and inscribed with a pair of mouse ears on each one.
Carefully opening the door, I let myself into the room, which was smelled faintly of chocolate.
Crossing the room, my footfalls being silenced by the plush carpeting, I went straight to the television and shut it off, shrouding the room in darkness.
“Hey! I was watching that! I like Chip and Dale!”
Startled, I lost my balance and fell to the floor at the sudden exclamation.
I heard some loud fumbling, and a moment later, one of the crystal lamps on the little table beside the bed came on.
“Gosh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you! I am sorry! Are you hurt?” Came the soft spoken and gentle apology.
Pushing myself up into a seated position, I was extremely surprised to find master of that maison, Mr. Jackson, to be completely and utterly wide awake.
“No, I’m okay…” I grunted as I climbed to my feet, my thigh hurting where I had landed on it. “It was just a shock to me, that’s all. You’re usually asleep when I get here, Sir.” I explained, going over to the bedside.
Lying there, propped up on a dozen or so plump pillows, was Mr. Jackson.
Seeing him alert was a new thing for me, and I took a moment to take in his appearance.
To say he was thirty-eight years old, Mr. Jackson didn’t appear to be a day over twenty-five.
Tall and exceedingly slim, Mr. Jackson had an a appearance unlike any other man I had worked for.
Even though he was a Black man, his skin very pale in complexion, very fair to the point it was almost milky. In the right lighting I could make out blue veins here and there on him.
He had a long, oval shaped face with very sharp, angular features, high cheek bones, hollow cheeks, large, dark almost shaped eyes under thick, perfectly arched black brows.
He features bordered on the feminine and lent to the mysteriousness of his peculiar, haunting and arresting look.
He had long, shiny, straight ebony hair, that I noticed tonight, instead of being left loose as it usually was, it had been pulled back and woven into a thick French braid.
He was quite attractive, lying there on top of the covers, his thin frame draped in a pair of simple red and black striped silk pajamas, that made him appear all the whiter. Save for the little black braces wrapped around his right ankle and wrist.
Plump pink lips parted and white teeth gleamed as Mr. Jackson grinned sweetly at me.
“I know, I usually take my medicine…” A long white hand motioned to the filled glass of water and tiny cup with two even tinier pink pills in it. “But it knocks me out before ten-thirty, and I like to watch Chip and Dale at ten-thirty…I don’t hurt so badly tonight anyway. I don’t really need it.” He admitted softly.
“Yes, Sir…” I nodded and was absently cracking my knuckles.
God, once that man was around and moving, he was kind of cute. Handsome even.
“What’s your name? I don’t know that I’ve ever spoke to my night nurse.” Mr. Jackson squinted up at me before leaning ad illuminating the lamp on the other bedside table, flooding the room with a considerable amount of light.
“I’m Lisette, Sir. I’ve been coming in the last eight nights, Mr. Jackson--”
I started and Mr. Jackson was holding up a hand.
“Please. I’m Michael. Mr. Jackson is my father. I’m Michael. It’s nice to meet you Lisette.” A cool hand was wrapped around mine and shaking it eagerly.
“Is there anything I could get you? A drink or maybe a snack, Sir?”
Dark eyes glittered at me at the mention of food.
“Oh…would you bring me a glass of orange juice? And there’s a little bowl of cherry Jell-o I’ve been meaning to eat. Will you bring them to me?” He wondered and I nodded.
“Of course.” Turning, I started to the kitchen to retrieve the items.
The minute I hit the doors, I fell against the doorframe, trembling, my heart pounding wildly.
My thoughts of Mr. Jackson--Michael were quickly moving from him being merely handsome to verging on the territory of sexy.
And I knew I had to calm myself down. I was there to have a job to do…and I couldn’t allow dirty thoughts to cloud my judgment.
If I made one misstep with Michael, I might have found myself out of a decent job. And working privately for this man brought me nearly twelve dollars an hour. All money I was putting towards that powder blue convertible I had been wanting for over a year.
Trying to squash, kill, and ignore my overheating hormones, I busied myself, filling an ornate crystal tumbler with the fresh squeezed orange juice, and grabbing the little bowl of Jell-o, sticking a silver spoon in it, before placing them on a bright, red Lucite tray.
I found Michael still propped up on the bed, now, from somewhere, a stuffed Goofy doll had appeared at his side.
“Oh thank you, Lisette. You work quickly. I appreciate that.” He told me as I placed the tray in his lap.
“You’re welcome, Sir. Do you need me to feed you?” I wondered softly, as I watched him fumbling for the spoon.
“No…” He insisted sharply. “I’m a grown man. I’m almost thirty-nine years old. I’m more than capable of feeding myself.”
No sooner had Michael said that, than disaster struck.
Somehow, I’m still not quite sure since I was looking directly at him, he managed to overturn both the glass of juice and Jell-o, staining his pajamas and most of the bedding.
“Oh s***!” Michael mumbled to himself, and I saw he was going pink with embarrassment. “Oh…Oh, Lisette! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!” He whined, sounding more like a little boy, as I quickly snatched up the bowl, glass and tray and set them on the other bedside table.
“It’s alright…” I was slightly amused by how upset he seemed to be becoming. “Accidents happen.”
“But I don’t want to make your job harder…” Michael confessed, as I ran and retrieved a chair from the opposite side of the room.
“It’s no problem. This is the first work, I’ve done since I started here. Come on…” I stood along side the bed and grabbing his arm, draping it around my shoulder. If only that man knew I spent all my time there reading his comic books. “I’ve gotta get you out of that bed and this bed stripped before there’s a billion ants using you as a buffet.”
“Okay…ugh…” Michael was grunting with effort as he tried to get out of the bed.
Taking a deep breath, I had quickly spun and set him down in the chair before he even realized it.
“Jesus--how on Earth did you do that?” He gasped, looking down at the chair as he slumped in it.
Moving and starting to yank the sheets off the bed, I replied,
‘No problem. You’re really thin, it’s not much trouble.”
“You’re thinner than me…” Michael chuckled sweetly. Oh it was such a cute little guffaw he had. “How old are you, anyway?”
“I’ll be twenty-one next month.” I answered and was pulling the cases off pillows bunching it all on the floor to take down to wash.
“Oh, you’re young.” Michael commented mildly, as I started to bundle the covers together to carry away.
“Is…is there anyway I can get cleaned up? This orange juice is making me sticky--I’m a mess.” It seemed to pain him to ask me to help him.
Blowing one of my curls out my eye I looked up at him.
“Um, sure. Are you able to sit in the bathtub?”
A sorrowful smile crossed his lips. “No…I can’t. Usually the nurse before you gives me a sponge bath. All the things you need are in the linen closet of my bathroom--little bucket, sponge, soap, rubber sheets so the bed doesn’t get soggy. If it’s not too much, trouble.”
“Michael…” I reached up and without thinking patted his knee. “You pay me to care for you--that’s what I intend to do.”
I started past him and he grabbed onto my arm.
Dark eyes washed over me and he bit down on his bottom lip, an action that weakened my knees to the point I almost was on the carpet again.
“Thank you…” The words popped from his little glossy mouth, and I had to do battle with myself to fight the urge to kiss him. It couldn’t have been the best form to want to openly French a man I had only really spoken to for about forty-five minutes. If that long.
Prying myself away from Michael, it wasn’t until I was actually in his black and white tiled bathroom that the realization of the situation dawned on me.
I was going to bathe Michael Jackson.
That meant I had to take his clothes off…and see him…naked.
I sagged against the door to the linen closet. How on Earth was I going to control myself once his clothing came off?
I quickly slapped myself. I had to get it together. I couldn’t be running around attracted to this damn man. He was my employer. I was his employee.
And no matter how wonderful he sounded giggling and how drop dead, knock my ass out sexy he was, I’d have to remain professional.
This job was too damn good and easy to let my suddenly flaming nether regions ruin it for me!
I once again busied myself, filling the aforementioned bucket with hot water, and collected a fresh bar of soap, and a thick green sponge , before picking up the black rubber sheet cover.
I was going to bathe this man, and keep it as clean as his little ass was going to be, if it killed me!
Making my way back over to Michael, I set my supplies down and began spreading the sheet onto the bed.
Did he have to smile so sweetly at me all the time? Didn’t he frown? Didn’t he know attracted I was becoming to him with each passing second.
“Why do you wear a different uniform than the other nurses?” Michael questioned suddenly.
I paused and glanced down at my outfit, which was comprised of a green and white pinstriped jumper over a white blouse with white socks and tennis shoes.
“I don’t like wearing the scrubs…I’m here to work--those things look like pajamas. I feel more work-ready in this.” I replied, trying to avoid eye contact with him. His eyes had a strange drawing power. I felt like one of Dracula’s victims every time I looked into them. He was slightly mesmerizing.
“All the nurses should wear that. It’s cute on you. The green, with your auburn hair--you a natural red head?”
I stiffened when I felt Michael tugging on the hem of my skirt.
Cute. The man had called me cute. He was paying attention to my appearance! I was flattered and heated all the more.
“Yes…I’m a natural redhead…” I turned to help Michael back into bed.
“Oh, your eyes are green too…your little uniform brings them out.” He observed as I was putting him back in the bed. “I think green eyes are prettiest on redheads.”
He’d complimented me again…this was getting out of hand. I was starting to like it!
Control yourself Lisette. Damn it! Isn’t this how you got fired from your last ****ing job?
“Your water’s going to get cold...” I advised and went to undo the first button on his soiled shirt.
Almost instantly, Michael had covered his face with his hands.
“Sir--!” I gasped as he knocked my hands away.
“I’m…I’m sorry.” He was apologizing again, more timid than ever. His voice was barely a whisper. “I’m really shy. Please forgive me. I’m still not accustomed to someone I don’t know too well seeing me nude…I’m shy….Please.”
That was a nice sobering slap. He was shy? He didn’t want me to see him nude. Most men I worked for would get naked at a moment’s notice and not give a **** who saw them.
Michael Jackson seemed so childish, so introverted, a part of me wondered that even at his age, almost forty, if he had even been with a woman. Was he a virgin? A forty-year-old virgin. Now there was an idea. Inwardly I was falling over laughing. Outwardly, I kept a placid face.
“Think nothing of it. I’ve seen a billion naked bodies--in far worse shape than yours. You’re just another notch on the belt as far as I’m concerned,” I assured him. In actuality, I was curious. I wanted to see his body. I wanted to look at him. See what he looked like. How…how big he was…as dirty as it sounds.
It took a long moment, but eventually Michael did put his hands down.
Still uneasy, I noticed he stared up at the ceiling as I continued loosening buttons and opened his shirt.
Every hair on my head stood up.
As the dirty silk fell away, a creamy, stark white and smooth chest and abdomen were revealed.
In the coolness of the room, a pair of tiny, Hershey’s kiss sized nipples, a muted shade of pink were sticking out, chilled to full ripeness.
His stomach was flat, with a little outie bellybutton, was accented by the merest indentations of a six pack.
Removing the shirt, I saw that though his arms were slim, they were incredible tones, muscles defined.
I was slightly dizzy with arousal and passion as I went to put my hand on the waistband of his pajama bottoms.
Easing them down and past his immaculate thighs, I made a startling discovery.
Michael was going commando--he wore no underwear at all!
“You…you don’t wear undies to bed?” I heard myself stammer, not even sure of what my voice sounded like anymore.
“No…” Michael squinched up his face. “Too restrictive.”
“Oh…” I continued pulling the pants down, when another, more earth shaking discovery took me. I was shaken. He found underwear restrictive. Restrictive from what activities, my hot and bothered mind could only imagine.
Michael Jackson…..that man….
Lying before me, resting on his left thigh was quite possibly the most well endowed d!ck I had ever set eyes on.
It had to be at least ten inches long…if not more. And as thick around as a Coke can.
Fresh and pink, with a perfect little mushroomed-head tip, it was just lying there, on that bare thigh, taunting me.
Nestled under the pretty ***** was a set of testicles, just as dewy pink, and perfectly round.
And not a single hair spoiled the surface. He was shaven clean--possible waxed.
My eyes greedily swept Michael.
He was perfect. Almost too perfect.
A body like that just was begging, pleading, crying to be touched.
And how I wanted to touch him…
****, I was dying.
I was so enthralled at the idea of a pink d!ick in my greedy hands, I almost missed Michael instructions.
“I’m particular about how I’m bathed. I want you to um…take care of my private area first, then bathe the rest of me with fresh water. Please, Lisette.”
I stood stunned a moment. I had to handle him…I was going to handle him right then.
“Yes…yes, Sir.” I replied weakly, and bent to start dampening the sponge.
“And no gloves, please. I’m allergic to latex.” Michael spoke up and I jumped as I felt him patting at my backside with a large warm hand.
My ass! He’d just touched my ass! My brain screamed at me. Michael Jackson touched my ass!
Wringing the sponge to nearly tearing it in two, I began lathering it with the soap, fighting. Fighting myself. Employer. Employee. I had to keep it professional! Damn it! I couldn’t’ be fired again!
Going over to Michael, I hung over him, so nervous, I was fairly trembling.
More timid that I had ever been in my own life--forget how Michael had been--I was barely rubbing at the base of his abdomen, just above his gorgeous genitals.
“Don’t be afraid…” Michael pinched my cheek. “You won’t hurt me. You can scrub harder.”
Unwillingly, I gazed into his face. His eyes had a strange, odd glint to them as he observe red me.
Not really sure, I was still scrubbing as softly.
“Lisette…” Michael spoke up and I saw that he had his hands in his hair--his arm pits were as smooth as the rest of him. “Do it right. I’ll tell you how to do it right.”
I saw a black rubber and in Michael’s hair and almost on cue, all his long locks spilled down, framing his smooth shoulders. Framing him perfectly.
I was speechless to his next instructions.
“Take the soap in your hands…lather them good. Put the sponge down. Then you grab me and rub….” His voice dropped several octaves and I stared at him as he was biting his bottom lip.
Brows wiggled as he nodded, seeming to quietly insist I do this.
“You mean…” My voice was choked as I was absently putting the soap onto my hands. “You want me to--”
“I’ve been laid up here for nearly two weeks. No one else paid attention to me like you have. Yes…” Michael trailed off and pinched the little dimple in his chin.
“I want you, to play with me. Play with my d!ck. Get me off. I need to get off in the worst way. I need you Lisette. Jack me….jack me off…”
That was all the prodding I could have possibly needed.
I couldn’t stop myself. The feeling was too strong.
I had to touch Michael Jackson. I had to put my hands on that body or I would have killed over.
Lathering my hands I heard Michael sigh, and he patted my backside again.
“You’ve got a nice, firm, sweet little ass, Lisette. You got everything I need.” He cooed as I took a hold of him, feeling his warmness in my hands.
Without any provocation, I automatically was running my hands up and down his shaft, with it quickly swelling to an abrupt rock hardness, a solidness that was boldly standing in my palms.
“Yes girl! Yes! Like that… just like that. Pull it! Rub it. Make it harder. Oh, I’m so hard…. Come on! ****! Come on Lisette!”
Hands came up and Michael was loosening the buttons on the front of my jumper causing it to fall to the floor.
I didn’t care. I was so caught up.
I was being bad, doing a nasty thing.
My blouse, followed by my little green bra found their way off and I was standing in front of Michael, in nothing more than a pair of panties.
“Tits…those titties! Yes!” Arm around me, Michael pulled me closer and I threw my head back, crying out as he was forcing one of my nipples into his hot and wet mouth , sucking greedily on one and playing with the other.
Tweaking at it, mashing on it.
“Big, pretty, round titties! Bounce!”
Taken and swept, I was tugging on him harder than ever, his ***** squeaking in my hands.
“Yes! Ah! Yes! Lisette! That’s it! That’s it. Oh sh!t! You’re gonna make me come! Make me come girl. Make me spray it all over this ****ing room! I wanna cover you in it! Come on Baby!”
Michael gasped into my bosom wrapping his arms around me and slapping at my backside producing a clapping noise.
“Yes! Ah! Yes… “ I felt Michael slipping his hand into the back of my underwear.
“Ow!” I screamed when I felt him plunge his thumb up my backside.
“Take it…take it….I like your ass. Its so tight. Take it!” Michael ordered sternly and was rocking his thumb back and forth. “I don’t care if I break my wrist!”
“Anybody can finger a p*ssy. I like thumbing an ass!” He confessed nastily and with his free hand, was pulling down on my neck with a crushing power.
A moment later his moist mouth, the same mouth that had been on my nips, was mashing my lips.
His tongue, sharp, slightly rough and sweet tasting was flicking around my mouth. Tasting me. Tasting him.
Suddenly, he snapped his mouth from mine and I winced painfully as he was forcing his thumb deeper into me, down to the knuckle.
Eyes closed, face going scarlet, Michael wailed as a sheen of sweat sprang up on him.
“Pull me! Pull me! Rub it! I’m about to come! I’m about to come. Oh, make me wet….get me wet, Lisette. Get my d!ck wet! Oh sh!t!”
Yanking his hands from me, Michael laid back on the bed, hands in his lustrous locks, mouth falling open as the feeling got too good.
Was becoming too much for him.
Looking down at that piece of perfect pink flesh, I could see it.
The first droplets of semen forming at the tip of the sweet c*ck. That juicy beauty in my hands.
I had to taste him. I had to. I was compelled. Never in my life had I ever wanted to put a d!ck in my mouth like I did right then.
I didn’t even like sucking d!ck. But this was different.
This was Michael Jackson.
Bending down, I pressed the mushroom tip just past my lips.
“Oh! Motherf*cker!’ Michael shrieked at the top of his lungs. “Suck me! Damn Lisette. Oh…suck it! Suck it. Bring me home Baby. Oh bring me home my little…AW!”
Suddenly, Michael twitched and was covering his face with his hands again,
His entire body shook, as suddenly, very suddenly, all at once, the flood gates of his loins opened up.
“I’m shooting! I’m coming! I’m coming! F*ck! F*ck! AW! AW! HEE! HEE! HEE! WOO! WOO! I’M COMING! TAKE IT! TAKE IT! GOD DAMN--F*CKER--” Gripping onto my head, Michael was forcing me mouth down all the way to the base of his *****.
Squirting wildly in my mouth. Ejaculating like nothing I had ever seen before in my life.
I watched as he took a hand and was squeezing his balls, turning then cherry red in his roughness. Milking himself.
I was choking. There was too much. How could so much semen seep from one man.
The hot, saltiness was overpowering me, and as a reflex, I threw my head back before I choked on hot seed.
“NO! GOD DAMN IT!” Michael’s hands were instantly wrapped around my head, his hand gripping my mouth to the point it hurt. “You spit it and I’ll put my entire hand up your ass. To the elbow. I‘ve done it before and I can do it to you too. You swallow!”
Pulling me down he pressed his mouth to my ear.
“Swallow it. You hear me? Swallow it. You put your mouth on it. You sucked it. You finish the f*cking job. YOU SWALLOW ME! Put your mouth on my damn d!ck…” ”
His eyes were wide, wild, glassy and glazing in his head as he glared at me.
He shook me harshly and against myself, I did, indeed swallow the semen.
Listening at me gulp, a cool grin appeared on Michael’s lips.
“Taste it…taste me. Enjoy it…my little nasty b!tch…” He whispered and was pecking at my damp forehead. “You enjoy me…Thick, wasn’t it?”
He questioned as he finally let go of me and was stroking my hair.
He rubbed the mix of saliva and body fluids from my mouth.
“I like you…” He informed me. “You stay…get in bed…:’
I found myself tucked beside that lovely, naked, slim body, hugging close to it.
“Yes…in the morning, I’ll call. Ask to keep you as a round the clock, live-in nurse. I can’t just take you at night. I need you all the time. You like that?”
My backside my patted again and I found Michael’s thumb pressing past my cheeks again.
“Yes…yes Michael…” I whimpered and was resting my head on his wet chest.
“Yeah…” He was toying with his now flaccid c*ck.
“I’ll keep you. Need more than the night shift….”
The End.
Beverly Hills, California
Spring, 1997
Watch Out for the Quiet Ones…
For the three years I had been working as a private caregiver to the sick and injured all around the state of California, I had heard this little saying. Off and on again, whispered under the breaths so as not to fall on eavesdropping ears.
I had never quite known what was meant by those vague, hushed words.
And then I met Mr. Jackson.
The company I worked for, Necessity Nursing, had assigned me to take over the night of working for this man.
I didn’t know much about Mr. Jackson. Just that he’d injured himself when he’d wrapped his sports car around a light post in downtown Los Angeles.
He’d been left with a badly sprained wrist and ankle both on his right side.
(And he’d moved into Starlight Heights because he couldn’t get up and down the steps of his much larger estate in The Valley.)
I had worked for Mr. Jackson for a little over a week and to be honest, he was fairly easy to care for.
Most nights, due to discomfort , he was given a painkiller by the nurse who tended to him before me, so by the time I arrived, he’d be sound asleep.
And really, he’d sleep right on through the night, without speaking a word to me. He’d only spoken to me once--to ask for help hobbling back and forth to the bathroom. And that was about it.
I don’t even think he knew my name.
That all changed one Saturday night.
I arrived to Mr. Jackson’s condo, shortly after ten p.m., as I did most nights.
I was kind of fond of working for Mr. Jackson--the building he lived in was so pretty.
Done in the Art Deco style of the 1930’s, everything as far as the eye could see on the eighteenth floor where he lived was done in black and chrome, with silver geometric shapes thrown in for good measure.
Getting up to the door, I stood on tip-toe, reaching to retrieve the door key that was hidden up there, so I could let myself in.
Opening the door into the brightly lit and slightly cluttered condo, I smiled to myself.
The inside of Mr. Jackson’s apartment looked more suited for a boy of ten years old than a man who was almost forty.
All over the place toys from a still pinging Gameboy to a bunch of stuffed Disney characters were crowded into the apartment, decorated in shades of black, white and grey.
Lining the walls, framed posters from more Disney films were displayed.
I was accustomed to Mr. Jackson’s affinity for all things Disney.
Very often, he’d dozed off watching an animated feature, and I would have to shut the film off and pop the tape out of the VCR.
Setting my purse and light jacket in the closet, I sprang into my routine that had carried me from ten till six in the morning.
First I located the phone in the kitchen and phoned in to my job to let them know I had arrived at work--and so I wouldn’t be docked pay!
Then I started the coffee pot to brewing. Mr. Jackson drank an exclusive brand of coffee I had never heard of, that had been imported straight from Columbia. If he had any problem with me drinking it, I had yet to hear a complaint.
Finally, with the scent of pungent beans filling the air, I left the kitchen, destined for Mr. Jackson’s room to look in on him. And see if I could find any more of his Archie comic books to read so I could pass the time before I started tidying the condo up.
“…Chip and Dale…Rescue Rangers…!”
I heard his big screen television blasting before even reached the door to his room. It wasn’t hard to miss the double doors of his room--they were silver and inscribed with a pair of mouse ears on each one.
Carefully opening the door, I let myself into the room, which was smelled faintly of chocolate.
Crossing the room, my footfalls being silenced by the plush carpeting, I went straight to the television and shut it off, shrouding the room in darkness.
“Hey! I was watching that! I like Chip and Dale!”
Startled, I lost my balance and fell to the floor at the sudden exclamation.
I heard some loud fumbling, and a moment later, one of the crystal lamps on the little table beside the bed came on.
“Gosh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you! I am sorry! Are you hurt?” Came the soft spoken and gentle apology.
Pushing myself up into a seated position, I was extremely surprised to find master of that maison, Mr. Jackson, to be completely and utterly wide awake.
“No, I’m okay…” I grunted as I climbed to my feet, my thigh hurting where I had landed on it. “It was just a shock to me, that’s all. You’re usually asleep when I get here, Sir.” I explained, going over to the bedside.
Lying there, propped up on a dozen or so plump pillows, was Mr. Jackson.
Seeing him alert was a new thing for me, and I took a moment to take in his appearance.
To say he was thirty-eight years old, Mr. Jackson didn’t appear to be a day over twenty-five.
Tall and exceedingly slim, Mr. Jackson had an a appearance unlike any other man I had worked for.
Even though he was a Black man, his skin very pale in complexion, very fair to the point it was almost milky. In the right lighting I could make out blue veins here and there on him.
He had a long, oval shaped face with very sharp, angular features, high cheek bones, hollow cheeks, large, dark almost shaped eyes under thick, perfectly arched black brows.
He features bordered on the feminine and lent to the mysteriousness of his peculiar, haunting and arresting look.
He had long, shiny, straight ebony hair, that I noticed tonight, instead of being left loose as it usually was, it had been pulled back and woven into a thick French braid.
He was quite attractive, lying there on top of the covers, his thin frame draped in a pair of simple red and black striped silk pajamas, that made him appear all the whiter. Save for the little black braces wrapped around his right ankle and wrist.
Plump pink lips parted and white teeth gleamed as Mr. Jackson grinned sweetly at me.
“I know, I usually take my medicine…” A long white hand motioned to the filled glass of water and tiny cup with two even tinier pink pills in it. “But it knocks me out before ten-thirty, and I like to watch Chip and Dale at ten-thirty…I don’t hurt so badly tonight anyway. I don’t really need it.” He admitted softly.
“Yes, Sir…” I nodded and was absently cracking my knuckles.
God, once that man was around and moving, he was kind of cute. Handsome even.
“What’s your name? I don’t know that I’ve ever spoke to my night nurse.” Mr. Jackson squinted up at me before leaning ad illuminating the lamp on the other bedside table, flooding the room with a considerable amount of light.
“I’m Lisette, Sir. I’ve been coming in the last eight nights, Mr. Jackson--”
I started and Mr. Jackson was holding up a hand.
“Please. I’m Michael. Mr. Jackson is my father. I’m Michael. It’s nice to meet you Lisette.” A cool hand was wrapped around mine and shaking it eagerly.
“Is there anything I could get you? A drink or maybe a snack, Sir?”
Dark eyes glittered at me at the mention of food.
“Oh…would you bring me a glass of orange juice? And there’s a little bowl of cherry Jell-o I’ve been meaning to eat. Will you bring them to me?” He wondered and I nodded.
“Of course.” Turning, I started to the kitchen to retrieve the items.
The minute I hit the doors, I fell against the doorframe, trembling, my heart pounding wildly.
My thoughts of Mr. Jackson--Michael were quickly moving from him being merely handsome to verging on the territory of sexy.
And I knew I had to calm myself down. I was there to have a job to do…and I couldn’t allow dirty thoughts to cloud my judgment.
If I made one misstep with Michael, I might have found myself out of a decent job. And working privately for this man brought me nearly twelve dollars an hour. All money I was putting towards that powder blue convertible I had been wanting for over a year.
Trying to squash, kill, and ignore my overheating hormones, I busied myself, filling an ornate crystal tumbler with the fresh squeezed orange juice, and grabbing the little bowl of Jell-o, sticking a silver spoon in it, before placing them on a bright, red Lucite tray.
I found Michael still propped up on the bed, now, from somewhere, a stuffed Goofy doll had appeared at his side.
“Oh thank you, Lisette. You work quickly. I appreciate that.” He told me as I placed the tray in his lap.
“You’re welcome, Sir. Do you need me to feed you?” I wondered softly, as I watched him fumbling for the spoon.
“No…” He insisted sharply. “I’m a grown man. I’m almost thirty-nine years old. I’m more than capable of feeding myself.”
No sooner had Michael said that, than disaster struck.
Somehow, I’m still not quite sure since I was looking directly at him, he managed to overturn both the glass of juice and Jell-o, staining his pajamas and most of the bedding.
“Oh s***!” Michael mumbled to himself, and I saw he was going pink with embarrassment. “Oh…Oh, Lisette! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!” He whined, sounding more like a little boy, as I quickly snatched up the bowl, glass and tray and set them on the other bedside table.
“It’s alright…” I was slightly amused by how upset he seemed to be becoming. “Accidents happen.”
“But I don’t want to make your job harder…” Michael confessed, as I ran and retrieved a chair from the opposite side of the room.
“It’s no problem. This is the first work, I’ve done since I started here. Come on…” I stood along side the bed and grabbing his arm, draping it around my shoulder. If only that man knew I spent all my time there reading his comic books. “I’ve gotta get you out of that bed and this bed stripped before there’s a billion ants using you as a buffet.”
“Okay…ugh…” Michael was grunting with effort as he tried to get out of the bed.
Taking a deep breath, I had quickly spun and set him down in the chair before he even realized it.
“Jesus--how on Earth did you do that?” He gasped, looking down at the chair as he slumped in it.
Moving and starting to yank the sheets off the bed, I replied,
‘No problem. You’re really thin, it’s not much trouble.”
“You’re thinner than me…” Michael chuckled sweetly. Oh it was such a cute little guffaw he had. “How old are you, anyway?”
“I’ll be twenty-one next month.” I answered and was pulling the cases off pillows bunching it all on the floor to take down to wash.
“Oh, you’re young.” Michael commented mildly, as I started to bundle the covers together to carry away.
“Is…is there anyway I can get cleaned up? This orange juice is making me sticky--I’m a mess.” It seemed to pain him to ask me to help him.
Blowing one of my curls out my eye I looked up at him.
“Um, sure. Are you able to sit in the bathtub?”
A sorrowful smile crossed his lips. “No…I can’t. Usually the nurse before you gives me a sponge bath. All the things you need are in the linen closet of my bathroom--little bucket, sponge, soap, rubber sheets so the bed doesn’t get soggy. If it’s not too much, trouble.”
“Michael…” I reached up and without thinking patted his knee. “You pay me to care for you--that’s what I intend to do.”
I started past him and he grabbed onto my arm.
Dark eyes washed over me and he bit down on his bottom lip, an action that weakened my knees to the point I almost was on the carpet again.
“Thank you…” The words popped from his little glossy mouth, and I had to do battle with myself to fight the urge to kiss him. It couldn’t have been the best form to want to openly French a man I had only really spoken to for about forty-five minutes. If that long.
Prying myself away from Michael, it wasn’t until I was actually in his black and white tiled bathroom that the realization of the situation dawned on me.
I was going to bathe Michael Jackson.
That meant I had to take his clothes off…and see him…naked.
I sagged against the door to the linen closet. How on Earth was I going to control myself once his clothing came off?
I quickly slapped myself. I had to get it together. I couldn’t be running around attracted to this damn man. He was my employer. I was his employee.
And no matter how wonderful he sounded giggling and how drop dead, knock my ass out sexy he was, I’d have to remain professional.
This job was too damn good and easy to let my suddenly flaming nether regions ruin it for me!
I once again busied myself, filling the aforementioned bucket with hot water, and collected a fresh bar of soap, and a thick green sponge , before picking up the black rubber sheet cover.
I was going to bathe this man, and keep it as clean as his little ass was going to be, if it killed me!
Making my way back over to Michael, I set my supplies down and began spreading the sheet onto the bed.
Did he have to smile so sweetly at me all the time? Didn’t he frown? Didn’t he know attracted I was becoming to him with each passing second.
“Why do you wear a different uniform than the other nurses?” Michael questioned suddenly.
I paused and glanced down at my outfit, which was comprised of a green and white pinstriped jumper over a white blouse with white socks and tennis shoes.
“I don’t like wearing the scrubs…I’m here to work--those things look like pajamas. I feel more work-ready in this.” I replied, trying to avoid eye contact with him. His eyes had a strange drawing power. I felt like one of Dracula’s victims every time I looked into them. He was slightly mesmerizing.
“All the nurses should wear that. It’s cute on you. The green, with your auburn hair--you a natural red head?”
I stiffened when I felt Michael tugging on the hem of my skirt.
Cute. The man had called me cute. He was paying attention to my appearance! I was flattered and heated all the more.
“Yes…I’m a natural redhead…” I turned to help Michael back into bed.
“Oh, your eyes are green too…your little uniform brings them out.” He observed as I was putting him back in the bed. “I think green eyes are prettiest on redheads.”
He’d complimented me again…this was getting out of hand. I was starting to like it!
Control yourself Lisette. Damn it! Isn’t this how you got fired from your last ****ing job?
“Your water’s going to get cold...” I advised and went to undo the first button on his soiled shirt.
Almost instantly, Michael had covered his face with his hands.
“Sir--!” I gasped as he knocked my hands away.
“I’m…I’m sorry.” He was apologizing again, more timid than ever. His voice was barely a whisper. “I’m really shy. Please forgive me. I’m still not accustomed to someone I don’t know too well seeing me nude…I’m shy….Please.”
That was a nice sobering slap. He was shy? He didn’t want me to see him nude. Most men I worked for would get naked at a moment’s notice and not give a **** who saw them.
Michael Jackson seemed so childish, so introverted, a part of me wondered that even at his age, almost forty, if he had even been with a woman. Was he a virgin? A forty-year-old virgin. Now there was an idea. Inwardly I was falling over laughing. Outwardly, I kept a placid face.
“Think nothing of it. I’ve seen a billion naked bodies--in far worse shape than yours. You’re just another notch on the belt as far as I’m concerned,” I assured him. In actuality, I was curious. I wanted to see his body. I wanted to look at him. See what he looked like. How…how big he was…as dirty as it sounds.
It took a long moment, but eventually Michael did put his hands down.
Still uneasy, I noticed he stared up at the ceiling as I continued loosening buttons and opened his shirt.
Every hair on my head stood up.
As the dirty silk fell away, a creamy, stark white and smooth chest and abdomen were revealed.
In the coolness of the room, a pair of tiny, Hershey’s kiss sized nipples, a muted shade of pink were sticking out, chilled to full ripeness.
His stomach was flat, with a little outie bellybutton, was accented by the merest indentations of a six pack.
Removing the shirt, I saw that though his arms were slim, they were incredible tones, muscles defined.
I was slightly dizzy with arousal and passion as I went to put my hand on the waistband of his pajama bottoms.
Easing them down and past his immaculate thighs, I made a startling discovery.
Michael was going commando--he wore no underwear at all!
“You…you don’t wear undies to bed?” I heard myself stammer, not even sure of what my voice sounded like anymore.
“No…” Michael squinched up his face. “Too restrictive.”
“Oh…” I continued pulling the pants down, when another, more earth shaking discovery took me. I was shaken. He found underwear restrictive. Restrictive from what activities, my hot and bothered mind could only imagine.
Michael Jackson…..that man….
Lying before me, resting on his left thigh was quite possibly the most well endowed d!ck I had ever set eyes on.
It had to be at least ten inches long…if not more. And as thick around as a Coke can.
Fresh and pink, with a perfect little mushroomed-head tip, it was just lying there, on that bare thigh, taunting me.
Nestled under the pretty ***** was a set of testicles, just as dewy pink, and perfectly round.
And not a single hair spoiled the surface. He was shaven clean--possible waxed.
My eyes greedily swept Michael.
He was perfect. Almost too perfect.
A body like that just was begging, pleading, crying to be touched.
And how I wanted to touch him…
****, I was dying.
I was so enthralled at the idea of a pink d!ick in my greedy hands, I almost missed Michael instructions.
“I’m particular about how I’m bathed. I want you to um…take care of my private area first, then bathe the rest of me with fresh water. Please, Lisette.”
I stood stunned a moment. I had to handle him…I was going to handle him right then.
“Yes…yes, Sir.” I replied weakly, and bent to start dampening the sponge.
“And no gloves, please. I’m allergic to latex.” Michael spoke up and I jumped as I felt him patting at my backside with a large warm hand.
My ass! He’d just touched my ass! My brain screamed at me. Michael Jackson touched my ass!
Wringing the sponge to nearly tearing it in two, I began lathering it with the soap, fighting. Fighting myself. Employer. Employee. I had to keep it professional! Damn it! I couldn’t’ be fired again!
Going over to Michael, I hung over him, so nervous, I was fairly trembling.
More timid that I had ever been in my own life--forget how Michael had been--I was barely rubbing at the base of his abdomen, just above his gorgeous genitals.
“Don’t be afraid…” Michael pinched my cheek. “You won’t hurt me. You can scrub harder.”
Unwillingly, I gazed into his face. His eyes had a strange, odd glint to them as he observe red me.
Not really sure, I was still scrubbing as softly.
“Lisette…” Michael spoke up and I saw that he had his hands in his hair--his arm pits were as smooth as the rest of him. “Do it right. I’ll tell you how to do it right.”
I saw a black rubber and in Michael’s hair and almost on cue, all his long locks spilled down, framing his smooth shoulders. Framing him perfectly.
I was speechless to his next instructions.
“Take the soap in your hands…lather them good. Put the sponge down. Then you grab me and rub….” His voice dropped several octaves and I stared at him as he was biting his bottom lip.
Brows wiggled as he nodded, seeming to quietly insist I do this.
“You mean…” My voice was choked as I was absently putting the soap onto my hands. “You want me to--”
“I’ve been laid up here for nearly two weeks. No one else paid attention to me like you have. Yes…” Michael trailed off and pinched the little dimple in his chin.
“I want you, to play with me. Play with my d!ck. Get me off. I need to get off in the worst way. I need you Lisette. Jack me….jack me off…”
That was all the prodding I could have possibly needed.
I couldn’t stop myself. The feeling was too strong.
I had to touch Michael Jackson. I had to put my hands on that body or I would have killed over.
Lathering my hands I heard Michael sigh, and he patted my backside again.
“You’ve got a nice, firm, sweet little ass, Lisette. You got everything I need.” He cooed as I took a hold of him, feeling his warmness in my hands.
Without any provocation, I automatically was running my hands up and down his shaft, with it quickly swelling to an abrupt rock hardness, a solidness that was boldly standing in my palms.
“Yes girl! Yes! Like that… just like that. Pull it! Rub it. Make it harder. Oh, I’m so hard…. Come on! ****! Come on Lisette!”
Hands came up and Michael was loosening the buttons on the front of my jumper causing it to fall to the floor.
I didn’t care. I was so caught up.
I was being bad, doing a nasty thing.
My blouse, followed by my little green bra found their way off and I was standing in front of Michael, in nothing more than a pair of panties.
“Tits…those titties! Yes!” Arm around me, Michael pulled me closer and I threw my head back, crying out as he was forcing one of my nipples into his hot and wet mouth , sucking greedily on one and playing with the other.
Tweaking at it, mashing on it.
“Big, pretty, round titties! Bounce!”
Taken and swept, I was tugging on him harder than ever, his ***** squeaking in my hands.
“Yes! Ah! Yes! Lisette! That’s it! That’s it. Oh sh!t! You’re gonna make me come! Make me come girl. Make me spray it all over this ****ing room! I wanna cover you in it! Come on Baby!”
Michael gasped into my bosom wrapping his arms around me and slapping at my backside producing a clapping noise.
“Yes! Ah! Yes… “ I felt Michael slipping his hand into the back of my underwear.
“Ow!” I screamed when I felt him plunge his thumb up my backside.
“Take it…take it….I like your ass. Its so tight. Take it!” Michael ordered sternly and was rocking his thumb back and forth. “I don’t care if I break my wrist!”
“Anybody can finger a p*ssy. I like thumbing an ass!” He confessed nastily and with his free hand, was pulling down on my neck with a crushing power.
A moment later his moist mouth, the same mouth that had been on my nips, was mashing my lips.
His tongue, sharp, slightly rough and sweet tasting was flicking around my mouth. Tasting me. Tasting him.
Suddenly, he snapped his mouth from mine and I winced painfully as he was forcing his thumb deeper into me, down to the knuckle.
Eyes closed, face going scarlet, Michael wailed as a sheen of sweat sprang up on him.
“Pull me! Pull me! Rub it! I’m about to come! I’m about to come. Oh, make me wet….get me wet, Lisette. Get my d!ck wet! Oh sh!t!”
Yanking his hands from me, Michael laid back on the bed, hands in his lustrous locks, mouth falling open as the feeling got too good.
Was becoming too much for him.
Looking down at that piece of perfect pink flesh, I could see it.
The first droplets of semen forming at the tip of the sweet c*ck. That juicy beauty in my hands.
I had to taste him. I had to. I was compelled. Never in my life had I ever wanted to put a d!ck in my mouth like I did right then.
I didn’t even like sucking d!ck. But this was different.
This was Michael Jackson.
Bending down, I pressed the mushroom tip just past my lips.
“Oh! Motherf*cker!’ Michael shrieked at the top of his lungs. “Suck me! Damn Lisette. Oh…suck it! Suck it. Bring me home Baby. Oh bring me home my little…AW!”
Suddenly, Michael twitched and was covering his face with his hands again,
His entire body shook, as suddenly, very suddenly, all at once, the flood gates of his loins opened up.
“I’m shooting! I’m coming! I’m coming! F*ck! F*ck! AW! AW! HEE! HEE! HEE! WOO! WOO! I’M COMING! TAKE IT! TAKE IT! GOD DAMN--F*CKER--” Gripping onto my head, Michael was forcing me mouth down all the way to the base of his *****.
Squirting wildly in my mouth. Ejaculating like nothing I had ever seen before in my life.
I watched as he took a hand and was squeezing his balls, turning then cherry red in his roughness. Milking himself.
I was choking. There was too much. How could so much semen seep from one man.
The hot, saltiness was overpowering me, and as a reflex, I threw my head back before I choked on hot seed.
“NO! GOD DAMN IT!” Michael’s hands were instantly wrapped around my head, his hand gripping my mouth to the point it hurt. “You spit it and I’ll put my entire hand up your ass. To the elbow. I‘ve done it before and I can do it to you too. You swallow!”
Pulling me down he pressed his mouth to my ear.
“Swallow it. You hear me? Swallow it. You put your mouth on it. You sucked it. You finish the f*cking job. YOU SWALLOW ME! Put your mouth on my damn d!ck…” ”
His eyes were wide, wild, glassy and glazing in his head as he glared at me.
He shook me harshly and against myself, I did, indeed swallow the semen.
Listening at me gulp, a cool grin appeared on Michael’s lips.
“Taste it…taste me. Enjoy it…my little nasty b!tch…” He whispered and was pecking at my damp forehead. “You enjoy me…Thick, wasn’t it?”
He questioned as he finally let go of me and was stroking my hair.
He rubbed the mix of saliva and body fluids from my mouth.
“I like you…” He informed me. “You stay…get in bed…:’
I found myself tucked beside that lovely, naked, slim body, hugging close to it.
“Yes…in the morning, I’ll call. Ask to keep you as a round the clock, live-in nurse. I can’t just take you at night. I need you all the time. You like that?”
My backside my patted again and I found Michael’s thumb pressing past my cheeks again.
“Yes…yes Michael…” I whimpered and was resting my head on his wet chest.
“Yeah…” He was toying with his now flaccid c*ck.
“I’ll keep you. Need more than the night shift….”
The End.
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